


four boots, five thousand two hundred and eighty feet

by Pares (kormantic)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Accidents With Alien Fruit, Aliens Kind of Make Them Do It, Bodyswap, M/M, The Care and Feeding of Rodney McKay's Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-03
Updated: 2007-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/pseuds/Pares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So what you're saying is, learning to love yourself really <i>is</i> the greatest love of all!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	four boots, five thousand two hundred and eighty feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Punk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk/gifts).



> 5280 ft = 1 mile. Yes, my title is a lame play on words. :: _hangs head in shame_ :: Special thanks to [](http://linabean.livejournal.com/profile)[**linabean**](http://linabean.livejournal.com/) for exquisite beta, and to [](http://runpunkrun.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://runpunkrun.livejournal.com/)**runpunkrun** herself who patiently audienced the first half and patiently waited on the second. (g)

The Smirlking on Felana was a weedy little guy in a sarong, with a busty, magnificent wife who almost eerily resembled Sophia Loren. They were both in their fifties, but John figured that if they'd had jeans on this world, they'd have had their hands tucked into each other's back pockets.

Teyla had known them since she was a kid, and her smile was huge and genuine and relieved and the Smirlking hugged her and handed her off to his wife, who stroked her hair and kissed her forehead again and again.

Ronon was staring at Mrs. Smirlking (or more specifically, Mrs. Smirlking's rack) so openly that _Rodney_ elbowed him in the gut and hissed, "Cut that out!"

John had never actually seen Ronon check a woman out like that, and he was kind of surprised, actually, because Mrs. Smirlking was no tawny teen supermodel... but the Sophia Loren angle explained a lot. She was magnetic, really, with a lush mouth and a sultry yet weirdly motherly vibe that John himself... definitely appreciated.

Apparently he wasn't the only one, because Rodney said, "Koo koo kachoo, huh?" And gave a low, hooting whistle. John smacked him on the shoulder just to keep up appearances.

"We would be greatly honored to treat with the people that have kept our friends from the Wraith so well," Mrs. Smirlking said, swaying up to them and indicating four empty chairs near the head of the table, which was heavy with wicker trays piled with fruit and little racks of small, tasty-looking grilled fish.

The Smirlking pinched Teyla's cheek and patted it fondly and Teyla flushed a little. Before John could so much as twitch an eyebrow, she gave him a look that promised a lot of bruises come next stick training, and John just held her chair out for her instead. Mrs. Smirlking pressed her cheek to Teyla's again, and praised her fitness and her new hairstyle, and insisted that she visit again when her six daughters were back in the village from the mountains where they summered.

Ronon took the seat nearest the Smirlking and asked him about the weapons he wore strapped to his wrists: they were sort of like bracelets, and kind of like claws, and they remind John a little of Japanese _sai_ , only scarier.

Mrs. Smirlking passed down a tray of fruit and John chose one that looked like a fuzzy pear. Rodney passed the tray on, but never took his eyes off John's pear-thing.

"It is called an optra," Teyla explained. "They are very sweet, like your apples."

John took a slurping, experimental bite.

It was the texture of a plum and blood-red inside, which was frankly a little disconcerting.

Rodney was clearly waiting for the verdict, his face oddly imploring and impatient at the same time.

"Well?" he demanded.

"S'good," John said around his juicy mouthful.

"But will it _kill me_?"

John took another, smaller bite and chewed with some deliberation, making Rodney fume, before he swallowed noisily and handed his optra to Rodney. The juice was garnet red and stained his fingers.

"Probably not," John decided.

Ronon was looking on with interest, already fiddling with a skewer of fish, as Rodney sniffed at the optra before touching the tip of his tongue to the fuzzy part near the stem. It was a weird, finicky, completely Rodney thing to do, and John shook his head a little. "Just eat it, will you?"

Rodney spared him a snippy look before finishing the optra off in three huge bites, his cheeks bulging.

He popped his fingers in and out of his mouth with brisk efficiency, and snapped at Ronon until he surrendered the skewer of fish.

"I like this planet," Rodney declared, and Teyla gave the Smirlkings a wry smile. John wondered when she'd actually say, "I can't take you people anywhere."

*

The next morning, John woke up wearing someone else's underwear.

It wasn't actually the first time that had happened, but the last time, he actually remembered snagging a clean pair from his roommate's dresser and putting them on. He was face down, nose mashed into a pillow, and wearing boxer-briefs, long in the thigh.

"Huh."

He reached back and scratched his ass—and froze. Lifting his head a little, he gingerly prodded at himself. He could feel his fingertip poking at his skin, could feel his ass-cheek dent as he applied more pressure, and he was pretty sure he hadn't had this much back before bed last night.

"What the hell?" He shoved himself up onto the heels of his hands and turned over, promptly falling out of bed. As his own bed was currently wedged lengthwise against his bedroom wall, he was pretty sure this wasn't where he went to sleep last night, either. In any sense of the word.

He glanced down at himself: he was way less hairy than he'd been yesterday, too. He glimpsed round, pink nipples, a small hill of belly, thick white thighs. Before he thought better of it, he cupped himself through the thin gray cotton of his boxer-briefs and somehow it was at _that_ moment that he recognized Rodney's body.

"Holy shit," he said softly, and he sat there a long moment, his hand on Rodney's dick, warm and still morning-hard against his palm, before he scrabbled to his feet and dug around for Rodney's headset.

*

Ten minutes later, he and Rodney were yelling at each other in the infirmary and Barry the PA had to break them up.

John told himself that it had nothing to with the fact that Rodney was dressed like _Rodney_ while still in John's body. Rodney must have gone to his locker for the clothes, because John had never worn cargo pants in his life, and Rodney had the belt cinched so tight that it hung off his hip like a leather sash. He was wearing three shirts and his old blue paneled science jacket, and there was no wristband to be seen. His hair ( _John's_ hair) was... flat and sad looking.

Carson looked pale, but Biro was asking pert questions and looking way too fascinated.

"This is all your fault!" Rodney insisted, still struggling to shake Barry's headlock.

"How the hell can it be _my_ fault? I didn't do anything!"

"So you _say_ ," Rodney sneered, and John's voice was so _weird_ to hear when he wasn't actually in his body, broadcasting it firsthand, and his lips twisted like he'd eaten something sour when he was really worked up, apparently.

John sincerely hoped his game face was as blank as he used to think it was. With Rodney wearing it, though, he'd probably never find out.

"Gentlemen," Carson broke in. "Your brainwave patterns... well, for whatever reason, you appear to have exchanged consciousnesses."

"Thank you Doctor _Science_ ," Rodney spat.

John found that he was pretty much in agreement with that sentiment.

"Can we just skip ahead to the part where you fix us?" he asked.

"By your own admission, neither of you can explain what might have happened. Neither of you touched any new technology, no one abducted you or shot you or drugged you." Carson shrugged helplessly. "I don't even have a place to start, really. Your blood scans are clean, and your brainwave patterns are normal... for the people you were when you went to bed last night."

Elizabeth walked in, looking stern and wary.

"John, Rodney," she said, addressing each of them in the body they were currently housed in. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, that is _it_ ," Rodney insisted, slapping a hand against the cot he was standing next to. "I have reached my quota on inane questions. I've got work to do. If anybody wants to, you know, _cure_ me, you can find me in the lab." And he stormed out.

"John, are you sure you can't think of anything that may have happened...?"

As John's body stamped out of the room, John himself couldn't help but notice the almost total lack of ass.

It was like his back just kept going straight down his thighs.

Huh.

He shook his head a little and focused on Elizabeth's face, her forehead creased with concern.

"Sorry, Elizabeth."

Teyla hurried in, almost breathless, with Ronon on her heels.

"I have only just heard," she said. "John," and her look was fraught.

"You've known these people since you were a kid. I trust your intel. Rodney didn't get any energy readings at all on Felana. This wasn't your fault."

"But..."

"But what?" John drawled. It was even weirder to hear Rodney speaking so _slowly_.

If Teyla had been anyone else, the expression on her face would have been matched with a nervous giggle.

"Perhaps it would be best if I were to speak to you... alone."

John covered his eyes with one hand, noting how big and solid and soft the palm was against the curve of his cheek and the bridge of his nose.

"Why am I so sure that I don't want to hear about this?"

There was a breathless pause as everyone in the room waited to hear what Teyla had to say. Glaring at them, John spat, "You heard the lady! Everybody _out_!"

John wasn't surprised when everyone filed out in a hurry. Rodney's voice could clear a room like nobody's business.

As he had the distinct feeling that he should be sitting down for this, John dropped into one of the hard molded sort-of-plastic chairs at Carson's desk. It was surprisingly comfortable. John was settling in with his hands gripped against the armrests when he realized that these chairs had never felt this comfortable before, because he'd never had this much _ass_ before.

"Just spit it out," he urged.

"First, you must know that I thought it was just an old uncles' tale, the kind of story that the elders tease young wedded couples with."

"Gotcha."

"The optra is part of the Felanen traditional wedding feast."

"Uh huh."

"It is said that if the fruit is shared, the life is shared. But it is generally metaphorical," she said gently.

"Except in this case," John guessed. "Any ideas why it made me wake up in Rodney's body?"

Teyla dropped her eyes to the floor briefly, before laying a gentling hand on John's shoulder.

"It is also said that a person cannot truly know his or her beloved until they've..."

"If you say 'walked a mile in his moccasins', I swear to _god_ —"

Teyla looked confused.

"No, seriously, tell me that the Felanes don't body swap before the bachelor party, because I mean, that would be a pretty interesting tidbit to omit from the briefing, Teyla."

John knew he sounded beyond pissed now, and he'd only heard Rodney sound this mad when cupcakes or ZPMs were involved.

"It has not happened for many generations," Teyla said hastily. "I told you, it was only a story."

"So..." John patiently ignored the parts about weddings and beloveds and said, "It'll wear off then, right?"

"I will visit with Hej and Kossi. Perhaps they will have more... specifics. But I believe so." And she really did look confident about that, so John relaxed a little.

John knew Elizabeth would never clear him for a mission while still trapped in another guy's body, but Lorne and Sumarakhan would tag along with Teyla to Felana and hopefully find out how to get everyone back in their own underwear in good time.

Meanwhile, John figured it was time for a shower.

He went back to Rodney's room because Rodney's clothes were there, and after seeing his own body decked out in McKay fashions, he wasn't even going to try to pretend he'd be able to fit in to a pair of his own pants.

This meant, naturally enough, that he took a shower in Rodney's bathroom.

Somehow, Rodney had convinced someone, somewhere, that shampoo spiked with Rogaine was an expedition necessity.

Every snotty comment Rodney had ever made or merely intimated about John's hair could now be disbarred for all eternity, if John ever decided to bring it up. John felt a weird pang of fondness for Rodney and decided then and there to pretend he'd never seen a thing.

Other than that, there was a washcloth that had dried into an upside down flower shape hanging from the shower tap and three skinny bars of what had once been Ivory soap. It wasn't military issue, and John wondered why Rodney had chosen that particular brand.

John stripped out of Rodney's clothes as fast as he could and gave himself the quickest, most impersonal rubdown he could manage. He couldn't exactly forget that the body wasn't his, but at least it did what he asked it to. Even so, he was surprised to see Rodney's steam-rosy face in the mirror.

He hadn't actually seen himself yet; he'd spent most of his morning freaking out and getting into scuffles with Rodney in the infirmary. As soon as he'd found the headset, he'd called the infirmary, dragged on Rodney's clothes from the day before and run for the transporter.

Now he had a towel tucked around Rodney's waist, and Rodney's face staring back at him from the mirror.

He needed a shave.

He ended up nicking himself three times. Rodney's face was rounder and his chin was pointy and Rodney's big blunt fingertips seemed to get in the way instead of helping ease the razor across his face. On top of that, the incredible softness of Rodney's skin was beginning to freak him out a little. Even the soles of the guy's feet were pink and yielding. How was it he wasn't one big blood blister after a day spent hiking through the gate?

Twice John had had to _make_ himself stop running an absent hand against the curve of Rodney's arm or the low rise of his belly.

The third time, John had to admit that he maybe had something of a problem on his hands, because Rodney's dick had perked up, and was beginning to seriously tent John's bath towel.

Well, technically speaking, Rodney's dick was John's now, and... wasn't _that_ a thought.

John caught himself frowning down at his cock, his mouth lopsided and his eyebrows hunched up. He looked so much like Rodney did when he was considering mainframe repairs that John surprised himself by laughing out loud.

He spread a hand against his chest and the nipple under his palm peaked like he'd hit an on-switch. The moment they tightened, a little jolt of heat spanked him right behind his balls, and his dick firmed up, prodding at the towel in earnest now.

"Goddamnit," John muttered, and he startled himself with Rodney's voice. And Rodney's dark expression, which John was pretty sure he'd never seen on the actual Rodney's face. Angry, annoyed, bitter, snippy—yeah, he'd seen those, but nothing quite like this. Probably because John had never seen Rodney indulge much in self-disgust.

John re-tucked his towel and went to rummage around for some fresh underwear.

Once he'd pulled on a clean pair of boxer-briefs, John felt fortified enough to dig through Rodney's stuff for something other than Rodney's uniform. Geek chic was all well and good, but this body-swapping thing meant he was off-duty for a while, and that meant he could dress down.

He was a little surprised to find that Rodney even _owned_ a pair of jeans, and when he pulled them on, he found them to be weirdly snug in the thighs, and he found himself checking out his own ass in the mirror before he realized that a) hellishly, he had _known_ that Rodney dressed left, and b) the jeans wanted the rest of the world to know that, too. Rodney's cock was a pretty obvious shape behind the placket of his jeans, and it was so discomfiting that John finally tugged the jeans off and put Rodney's day old science khakis on again.

Dressed at last, John figured that, as a good team leader, who wasn't at all, even a little bit, perving on his new physicist physique, he should go check out how Rodney was taking all this.

*

Rodney was sitting in a roller chair looking forlorn. Well, looking as forlorn as Rodney could look in John's body, which didn't really _do_ forlorn, as a general rule. As near as he could tell, Ronon was trying to get Rodney to eat a donut.

"I'm not hungry," Rodney muttered. "Leave me alone, already. Don't you have any hobbies?"

Ronon shrugged and was about to cram the donut in his own mouth when Rodney caught sight of John.

His eyes went wide and he sprung up to snatch the donut from Ronon's hand before bounding across the room and stuffing it into John's mouth.

"Chew!" Rodney demanded.

Out of sheer survival instinct, John did so, but then he slapped the rest away and said, "What the hell, Rodney?"

"You didn't eat any breakfast, did you?"

John shook his head slowly.

Rodney knocked the back of his hand against John's shoulder.

"Are you trying to kill me? Hello, hypoglycemic! Do you _want_ to pass out and fall off a balcony?"

Rodney goggled at him, and John just could _not_ get used to seeing his own face make Rodney's expressions. With a sniff, Rodney snapped his fingers over his shoulder at Ronon. "Donut! Stat!"

Ronon obligingly tossed him a second one and Rodney thrust it at John.

"Eat this."

"Jeeze, McKay, alright already."

After he'd washed his donut down with a mug of coffee, he grudgingly admitted that he felt less vague and ornery. He'd figured that was just the way Rodney always felt before coffee, but maybe the blood sugar thing had had something to do with it, too.

"Now get the hell out of here and take Ronon with you. I've got work to do and I can't do anything with the two of you lurking around."

John shrugged and made for the door. He'd been about to leave anyway, and besides, Teyla might be back from Felana with news.

Before he'd made it out to the hallway, though, there was a searing flash of light and a tiny ripping sound like two patches of Velcro being tugged apart. Even with his back to the flash, John was blinking fat green spots from his vision.

"Rodney? Are you okay?"

Rodney lay very still on the brushed metal flooring of the lab, with one arm crooked over his eyes.

"You know, Colonel, at this moment, I would have to say that I am the _opposite_ of okay!" There was a pause as Rodney drew a long breath before adding. "Also, it's possible that I may have, um. Blinded myself. That is to say... you."

Rodney's voice was flat and toneless, and John felt his gut ball up like a fist even as Ronon helped Rodney to his feet and called Carson on his headset.

Carson was so cheery and dismissive that John was almost convinced that Rodney (that _he_ ) wouldn't be tapping down hallways with a white cane for the rest of his life.

"He'll have his vision back in a tick. Think of it as a sensory overload, lad. He'll be back on his feet in no time."

John had to keep himself from making Carson swear on his mother's grave, and not just because she wasn't dead yet.

This reassured him enough, though, that he could devote his full attention to ripping Rodney a new one.

"What the hell were you doing in there?"

"I inadvertently activated the Ancient version of a stun grenade," Rodney sighed. "This is the worst day ever."

Ronon was unsympathetic.

"Doc said you'd get your sight back in a couple of hours." Ronon didn't actually _say_ "What's the big deal?", but it was pretty plain that that was his sentiment at the moment.

"You do realize that I'm trapped in another man's body? And that I'm blind?"

"Temporarily," John insisted uneasily.

"Who cares? Blind is blind! And I didn't even have a chance to shower this morning and your beard _itches_ ," he said accusingly, pointing a finger vaguely in John's general direction.

"You could get Yin to give you a sponge bath," Ronon said.

Rodney opened his mouth to complain more, John could tell, but he said, "Huh," instead. "Wait. I'm hot now! Yin will probably have to fight the other nurses for the _privilege_ of giving me a sponge bath!"

John flushed, annoyed and confused and probably offended. He wasn't really sure.

"Do you even _hear_ what you're saying?"

Rodney's smug smile was surprisingly effective and recognizable on John's face. "Of course. Your hearing is better than mine, too."

"Well... I _forbid_ you to get a sponge bath while you're in my body!"

Ronon shook his head a little, and Rodney looked dismissive.

"It's _my_ body now. For the moment, anyway, and I'm blind and I've got rock-hard abs and I'm going to let any number of hot medical professionals have their way with me. In fact, maybe they can trim your toenails while they're at it. You broke my clippers!"

John had officially had enough, and spun on his heel to leave the room.

Ronon followed John out of the room and all the way back to John's quarters. He accepted the beer that John silently handed him and stretched out on John's floor, with his back against John's bed while John ripped open a sack of corn chips and crammed them into his mouth.

He hated to admit it, but Rodney's body's blood sugar had been making him downright woozy. He slammed his beer and popped another one. Ronon sampled the chips and made an approving sound, taking a handful that was about half a bag's worth of tortillas.

John was absently scratching at his neck when Ronon said, "You're all red."

John glared at him; Rodney held his liquor for shit and he got all flushed when he drank. This was painfully obvious to John, because he could feel his face blazing.

"And kind of blotchy," Ronon added.

John's stomach tightened.

"Oh, shit," he said, grabbing for the chip bag: tortilla chips with lime.

He tapped his headset. "Carson, get a team over here fast and bring an epi pen. Rodney's having a reaction."

"Rodney?"

" _Me._ I kind of accidentally ate some citrus."

Carson tutted in his ear and then radioed for a team and in a minute, John's shirt was unbuttoned and he was just about to be jabbed with an epi pen, when Biro peered at him with interest and poked at a raised puffy spot on John's (Rodney's) chest.

"Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"No."

"Tingling in the mouth, swelling of the tongue?"

John shook his head peevishly.

"I'm just itchy."

"Hmm." She recapped the needle and stowed it her bag. "We'll need to keep you for observation, but if you haven't gone into arrest by now..." She checked her watch. "You're probably past the danger zone."

John and Ronon trailed after her and went back to the infirmary.

Apparently, Rodney had gotten his vision back, because he pointed an accusing finger at John and demanded, "What the hell did you _do_?"

"I ate some lime-flavored corn chips," John said wearily.

"Oh my god. Are you all right? Wait a minute," he said anxiously, "Am _I_ all right?"

"You're fine, Rodney," Carson said in clipped tones. Then he crossed to John and pushed his eyelids up, inspecting him carefully.

"It's a very mild reaction," Carson said to Biro. "Good show on withholding the epinephrine."

"I thought he was _deathly_ allergic?" John was itchy and confused, and it made him snappish.

"I _could_ die," Rodney sniffed.

"Aye, and he's been hospitalized twice in the past. I think something else is going on."

John was given a heavy dose of Benedryl and found himself nodding off on the hospital cot; Carson shook him awake.

"I think you'll want to see this."

He showed them two sets of scans.

John and Rodney looked at each other and then at Carson.

"Yes, and?" Rodney said.

"Your brainwave patterns are different, we expected that. But what's interesting is that your brain _chemistry_ is changing as well. That may be why you didn't have the same reaction Rodney would have had in his own body."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Rodney wanted to know.

Carson looked hesitant. "Well. That means you're settling in, anyway."

Rodney looked suspicious. "I thought this wasn't supposed to be permanent?"

"Rodney, we hardly know a thing about what's happened to you, much less what to expect."

While Carson was still wringing his hands over them, Ronon and Teyla came in together. John noticed the bag of tortilla chips was in his hand and mostly empty. He glared at the guy, but Ronon only shrugged and crammed another mouthful of chips in his mouth.

"It's not like you can eat 'em, anyway. They'd just get stale." At least, that's what John figured he said; Ronon's mouth was pretty full.

Rodney clapped his hands together and said, "Well?"

Teyla's face was neutral, and John felt something like panic build in his gut.

"Hej and Kossi have never seen a couple actually exchange before," she said finally. "They too thought it was only a story, and they could give me no real estimate of how long this condition may persist."

Rodney had linked his hands together and John could see the knuckles whiten. Hell, he had bony hands. And seriously hairy ones, too.

John was not exactly enjoying this new perspective thing.

"They did offer some insight on how it may have happened, however."

Carson looked expectant. "Oh?"

"It was indeed the sharing of the fruit."

John felt his mouth veer down of its own accord.

"But I didn't—"

"Oh, Christ," Rodney said, John's nasal voice almost reedy with dismay. Teyla nodded gravely and set a comforting hand on Rodney's shoulder. John opened his mouth, intending to argue that he'd only let Rodney have the optra _after_ he'd taken a bite, but when he caught Rodney's eye, he remembered that Rodney had pocketed an optra at the table, and that the walk back to the jumper hidden by the gate had been long and dusty.

Once everyone had piled in to go home, Rodney had pretty much gloated about how ready he was for a refreshing snack and produced the optra.

"Gimme half," John had said, but Rodney had merely smirked around his chewed up fruit pulp and shaken his head. Which was when John had leaned over and smacked it out of his hand, snapping it up in three huge bites and smirking right back around his own lumpy munched up fruit.

"This! This is why I don't share!" Rodney insisted.

He was pointing an accusatory finger at John, who rolled his eyes. " _This?_ What, you have some secret fear of accidental body-swapping now?"

"I read those SG-1 reports, and let me tell you something, buster—"

"Besides," John added, "You _wouldn't_ share, I had to _take_ it from you—"

He trailed off, as he realized that _everyone_ in the room had folded their arms and given him exactly the same look his third-grade teacher had given him for pushing Angela Rivera off the swing on the playground.

"You see what I have to put up with?" Rodney said, appealing, weirdly, to Ronon.

Carson lifted a hand and called a halt.

"That's enough scrapping for one day, I think."

Ignoring him, John forged on, "You're telling me that nobody on Felana ever shares their optras with a pal? A mom with her kid? I mean, if that's all there is to it, there'd be body-swapping going on all over the damned place."

Inclining her head, Teyla said, "I believe it may have something to do with your ATA gene. The Felanen tradition traces its roots to the old ceremonies of the Ancients."

Carson looked briefly cowed when Rodney shot him a burning glare, but then regained his nerve and went back to brusquely ordering people around his infirmary.

"Rodney, you can go back to your quarters, now that your vision's come back. John, I'd like you to stay on another hour or two—sometimes there's a delayed reaction. The rest of you clear out, and let the Colonel get some rest."

Teyla and Ronon followed Rodney out, and John flung his arm across his eyes and sighed.

The skin on his arm was soft, and the weight and shape of his forearm was a strangely comfortable pressure against his closed eyelids. He could feel his eyelashes just brushing the tender skin above his cheekbones and it was _weird_ but kind of nice. Lifting his arm, he risked a look around the infirmary, but it was just him and a cot and a curtained alcove, so he lifted a hand and warily touched the fringe of lashes along the upper lid of his—Rodney's—left eye, using Rodney's square blunt fingertips and trying to figure out if they would have felt the same to his own—John's—hands. He was confusing himself and after a second he balled his hand into a fist and pounded it into the mattress. After that, he closed his eyes and dozed until Carson shook him by the shoulder and sent him home.

Walking into his room, John bumped into the door frame.

It bugged him to realize it, but Rodney's shoulders were _broad_ and his arms were thick, and John wasn't necessarily adjusting to the way this body moved or took up space.

He muttered crabbily to himself and then realized that Rodney was in his room, hunched forward and practically hurtling to and fro in the room's narrow corridor between the bed and the bathroom.

He was still walking like Rodney, John realized. Rodney in John's body was walking with Rodney's customary quick step, shoulders rounded forward and tensed, head down like he was plowing against a strong wind.

"How'd you—"

Rodney gave him a bored eye roll and John didn't bother to finish his sentence. Then Rodney said, "I mean, I could have. But I didn't. I didn't have to. Atlantis let me in. She thinks I'm you, too."

Then Rodney's look sharpened. "Did you have any trouble getting back into your room at all?"

"No," John answered.

"Why not?"

"Because you're allowed _in_ , you idiot," John said peevishly.

"Oh." Rodney looked baffled but then a flicker of pleasure licked over his features, and John saw what used to be his own mouth do this weird little pouting smile.

"What do you want, anyway?"

"Ah. Well. I brought you some clothes, actually."

John saw a pile of folded laundry on his unmade bed and remembered that pretty much nothing he owned would fit Rodney's body comfortably or well.

"Thanks," he said finally.

"I wondered, uh, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, if I could borrow some of yours as well?" Rodney sounded diffident and strangely formal.

"Nah, go to town." He waved at his closet and his footlocker and sat down on the bed next to the clothes.

Rodney's expression was kind of pinched and nervous.

"Wouldn't you rather just, uh, pick some stuff out for me?"

John raised his eyebrows.

"It's mostly uniforms, Rodney. They're like Garanimals. They all match," he promised.

Rodney gave him a jerky nod and bent down to rummage through John's clothes.

That was something, John realized. He'd never really seen the back of his own head before. Or how his ears jutted out.

Huh.

Rodney leaned up again and stowed a pile of shirts and BDUs under his arm.

"Thanks. I'll. See you at breakfast?"

"I guess so, yeah," John sighed.

Once Rodney was gone, John stretched out on the bed again, but since he'd had a Benedryl-induced nap for much of the day, he wasn't exactly tired. Also, his left shoulder blade itched, and chafing it against the smooth sheets didn't seem to help.

"I could take a warm shower," John said aloud, in his wondering Rodney voice.

A warm shower would help him wind down, let him get some shuteye. So would a nice long jerk-off session. It was only practicality, John told himself. Or he could skip the shower and just proceed directly to the jerking off.

He tugged his shirt off over his head and kicked out of Rodney's pants and his goddamned boxer-briefs. Why fuck around, John thought with grim satisfaction. He was a guy and Rodney was a guy and guys jacked off all the time. No big deal.

Except he was in Rodney's body, with the low, rising curve of belly just above his dick, and Rodney's _dick_ thick and red and comfortable, already _familiar_ in the curve of his hand.

John's own cock was darker when he was hard, almost purple, and thicker at the head. Rodney's balls were bigger, rounder against the palm of his hand than he was used to, and John had to grin at that. Biggest balls in two galaxies, trust Rodney... He scratched idly at Rodney's smoother, rounder thigh and felt his balls tighten pleasurably.

Rodney's body was, apparently, _made_ for sex. Everything felt good, John realized, stroking his own thigh again, slowly, idly. He felt his cock twitch in his hand and he bit his lower lip, missing the shape of his own mouth, but intrigued by the feel of Rodney's. He opened his eyes and stared down at himself again, saw the tight nipples, the shiny head of Rodney's cock, the paler, softer skin and he screwed his eyes shut and let his head fall back and bounce against Rodney's mattress while he tightened his hand and gave himself the first, hard stroke.

Distantly, he heard the door open.

"It occurred to me that I'll need a pair of your boots, too," Rodney said. "Your feet are smaller than mine and—Holy shit!"

Rodney slapped both hands over his eyes and just stood there for a moment, plainly horrified. "This is like catching your parents in the back room at 54," he managed in a strangled voice. "Only infinitely weirder," he continued.

"You and me, Rodney, we're gonna have a little talk about _boundaries_ and knocking and how I'm gonna be locking you out for pretty much ever," John bitched as he swaddled his midsection with a Rodney-smelling sheet.

"Sorry, sorry," Rodney said, "Just—God. I mean, I haven't even showered you yet, and you're already in the middle of a... what, are you in junior high or something? You can't even wait a decent interval? I mean, 24 hours ago, I was, I was _me_ and now I'm restless all the time and you're never hungry, and part of the reason I haven't showered yet is because I have no idea how to do your stupid _hair_ —"

John stood up and grabbed Rodney's shoulders.

"Rodney, it'll be fine," he said, in his lowest, sincerest voice.

It sounded nothing like his actual voice, but it seemed to work anyway, and it was so weird to see Rodney's miserable/hopeful/eager-to-be-convinced expression on his own narrow, green-eyed face.

"You'll help with the hair?"

"I'll help with the hair," John promised.

"You have an entire _shelf_ of grooming products," Rodney said. "It's... well, it's not intimidating, exactly, but it's complicated and probably takes a certain finesse, and while I have that in spades, naturally, when it comes to engineering problems—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Grooming is hard. I told you, I'll help."

Rodney glanced awkwardly at John wrapped in the sheet and then over at the mussed bed.

"Can I just say that I've never had more sympathy for my sister in my life?"

John blinked at Rodney. Slowly.

"Ah, we were spending the Easter vacation with my grandparents? And they lived in Florida for half the year. So they had a swimming pool and a little cabana to keep the floating chairs in and where you could change into your swimsuit, and uh, we'd been watching old reruns of The Bionic Woman, right, and there was Lindsay Wagner, trotting around in those little tennis shorts, and right after that was Three's Company and... uh, anyway, it was the middle of the day and Jeannie and I shared a bedroom while we were visiting, so I went to take care of business in the cabana, and. Well. Obviously."

"Yeah."

"She screamed for so long I thought she'd pass out."

"So she was traumatized, huh?"

"Unfortunately, no. She made my grandma drive her to the library and she read up on masturbation and then she described it to me, how it was a natural, healthy thing, and so on, and that was worse than the screaming, believe me."

John grinned.

"It's a natural, healthy thing, Rodney. You should give it a try," he added smarmily, and only after he said it did he realize that he'd just given Rodney carte blanche with his ex-body.

Rodney's eyes went huge, and he licked his lips nervously.

"Uh." An awkward moment passed and Rodney said finally, "So. Those boots?"

"Right."

He sent Rodney home again and flopped back on the bed. He didn't touch himself again, and he finally fell asleep about an hour before he had to be up.

*

He was still Rodney when he woke up.

Sitting in the mess hall the next morning, slumped over his second cup of coffee and a plate of nilki eggs from MX4-323, John felt a bone-deep weariness that couldn't really be explained by his shitty night's sleep. Although Rodney was sitting next to him just as he usually did, the furtive glances were new, and while John was tempted to ask just what the hell he was looking at, seeing as how he'd had previous ownership of this body for 37 years, he really didn't feel up to any more in-depth conversations at the moment. Belatedly, he realized he'd promised to help Rodney with his hair. Well, he figured, if he was still Rodney tomorrow, he'd help then.

Teyla appeared, and approached them with a certain resolute wariness that he'd only seen in her when she was trying to calm someone holding a gun (or really, any sort of projectile weapon) on her.

"Colonel—John," she amended. "Rodney. I wish to discuss... a delicate matter."

"How delicate?" Rodney and John asked in unison. Rolling his eyes, John jammed an elbow into Rodney's side, earning himself a dirty look as Rodney rubbed his ribs with the flat of his hand.

Glancing around, Teyla suggested, "We could repair to a private room, if you would prefer."

Somehow, John was absolutely sure he didn't want to hear this, but he didn't want to put it off any longer, either.

"Here's fine," John snapped. "Out with it already."

"Oh, god, we're dying aren't we?" Rodney bleated, eyes going round.

Teyla smiled fondly at him, gleam of teeth and flash of genuine humor, as she covered Rodney's John-hand with hers.

"I assure you, that will not happen."

"But there _is_ bad news," John prompted.

Cocking her head slightly, Teyla gave him a serene, thoughtful look.

"I would not call it 'bad'. Awkward, perhaps."

"So?"

Taking a fortifying breath, Teyla folded her hands on the table and said, "I have been reflecting upon the information I gathered from Hej and Kossi. I asked them to describe the bridal rituals in as much detail as they could remember. The Felanan have no tradition requiring wedded couples to be virginal before they are handfasted, as I am told many cultures on your planet do. Therefore, part of the optra ritual is specifically designed to give one's future mate insight into the ways their partner most wishes to be touched." Sitting back, she let that sink in a little, and John saw Rodney's jaw drop.

"So you're saying..." Rodney started.

Teyla didn't blush, but she did smile with a touch of rue.

"I suspect that neither of you have yet had the... opportunity to test the pleasures of the bodies you are currently inhabiting. I believe that if you were to explore this new avenue and come to some… satisfaction, your bodies would revert back quite unharmed."

There was a reason Teyla was the leader of her people, and welcome at every known trade center in the Pegasus galaxy. Diplomacy.

Refusing to meet Rodney's eye, John nodded a little mechanically.

"We don't have to, uh, we don't have to actually _sleep_ together, do we?" Rodney said nervously.

"It is encouraged, naturally, but I don't think it is required."

"Wow. So what you're saying is, learning to love yourself really _is_ the greatest love of all!"

John elbowed him again just on general principle.

*

John walked back toward his quarters, with Rodney trailing behind him. He was off duty, anyway, and there was no reason they couldn't get this whole ordeal over with. Thinking about it, he wondered about what would have happened if Rodney hadn't walked in on him last night. Maybe nature would have just taken its course, Rodney would have just jerked off in the shower like he probably had a million times, and they'd have both woken up in the right body.

"So. This is weird," Rodney said.

"Yep."

Rodney colored a little, and John was surprised. He hadn't known he _could_ blush.

"Not just the, uh, test-drive orgasm thing. I mean. You know. _All_ of it."

"I hear ya."

"Look, are you mad at me?"

John blinked at him, startled enough to actually consider the question. He took stock and heard himself say, "Kind of? I mean, I'm not really mad at _you_ or anything. Just more... pissed off in general. But maybe that's just your body. I mean, are you usually pissed off?"

"Hm. Not so much. Irritated, generally, but not angry per se. But you have to admit that this particular situation is unsettling, at the very least."

John realized he was staring at what used to be his own mouth. He was pretty sure the phrase 'at the very least' had never actually come out of it before. Shaking his head he asked, "Are you mad at _me_?" After all, technically, he'd swiped Rodney's optra and gotten them into this mess in the first place.

"Not particularly. It's… disquieting being in your body, but at least it's unlikely to kill me. If Teyla's to be believed, anyway. Besides, I forgot what it was like to be this skinny."

Not really knowing what to do with the sudden image of a younger, _skinny_ Rodney, John just kept his mouth shut until he got to the door of his quarters.

"So." Rodney said again. He was hovering like a kid dropping his date off at home after a dance.

John raised his eyebrows expectantly and suppressed an urge to tap the dial of his watch. Finally, Rodney blurted, "I like it really, um, slippery. So, the shower would probably be the best... place. For you." He held his hands out placatingly, hurrying on, "It's just, it's a shortcut, okay, and this will all be over that much faster. All right?" And his expression was open and anxious and appealing, and John wasn't inclined to be an asshole in the face of that kind of helpless sincerity. But even so, he couldn't bring himself to give Rodney the same kind of tip.

He nodded briefly and turned away, knuckles grazing painfully against the door that opened just a little slower than he was used to, escaping into the familiar half-dark of his own bedroom.

*

Once he was alone, he found himself pacing his room and just feeling generally twitchy. Not exactly in the mood to drop his pants and give himself a hand.

After ten or fifteen minutes of bouncing off his own four walls, he found himself wondering how Rodney was getting along. If he was at it right now. If he'd come already and was in a boneless sprawl on Rodney's bed, maybe taking a breather before trying to get it up again...

Prurient interest piqued, John walked outside and tapped on Rodney's door.

The door opened almost immediately, and a fully clothed and obviously tense Rodney looked out at him.

"You, too, huh?"

John nodded stiffly and shoved past Rodney into his bedroom.

"I think, for me," Rodney said, "That it's the, uh, intimacy of it all. I mean, you're a private person and—" Before John even realized he'd planned on doing it, he'd backed Rodney against the wall and had reached up to kiss him. Rodney's lips were dry and his chin scraped against John's; his face was cooler than John's and the caps of his shoulders under John's big hands felt sharp and narrow.

For a moment, Rodney flailed, startled, but then he sighed a little and relaxed—right before he flailed again and shoved John away with panicked strength.

"Oh god, this is just—depraved! I'm surrounded by, by—depravitude!"

John felt his face crinkle in actual shock. That Rodney would be surprised or possibly even annoyed had been a distinct possibility, but Rodney's preening arguments about Canada's progressive political climate hadn't prepared John for outright _disgust_.

Almost instantly, Rodney was waving John's hands around and babbling, "No nononononono, no, this is not about the gay thing, I am completely on board with hot man-on-man action, I promise you, it's just that..." And he trailed off, his eyes wide and miserable, and his mouth was even sort of slanted in John's face, " _Rod_ ," he croaked. "Frankly, I found him sort of creepy? And Ronon was right, he smiled too much, and wait—okay, I'll give you egotism, fine, but narcissism? Not so much." His eyes went round again and he held out his hands in supplication, "Wait, that's not what I meant, that is to say, I don't think _you're_ narcissistic, I think you're hot, it's just that—this is going to a really weird place for me and... I don't think I can do this." There was an awkward pause while John tried to adjust to the first brush-off he'd faced in... well, probably, _ever_. Rodney just looked alarmed. "Look, you know how women are always saying 'It's not you, it's me?' In this case, that is _literally_ true. And. Jesus, I swear to you that when we get back where we're supposed to be, I will blow your _mind_ , honestly, I will, I will commit acts of—"

"Depravitude?" John suggested.

Rodney checked his rambling and his face cleared. A little crooked smile bloomed on his face.

"Right. I will do things to you that you haven't even _heard_ of. Okay, you'll have heard of them, basically I'm terrifically vanilla—terrific being the operative term, though," he stressed, raising a hopeful, illustrative finger, "Really, I mean it."

"Well. All right, then," John allowed.

"So. I think. I think if you leave now, I could. I mean. I have a specific goal in mind," Rodney said.

"Yeah. Me, too." He smiled a little. "See you on the other side, Rodney."

Nodding, Rodney shepherded John to the door. Right before Rodney shoved him outside, he screwed his eyes shut and pecked John's mouth, breathing, "See you," and shutting the door.

*

With his knees tented on the bed, John idly pinched his left nipple until it was tender and a little bit sore. If his neck had been long enough (and also jointed like a freaky robot arm) John would have tried lipping at his own nipple just to see what it might have felt like to Rodney.

His balls were heavy, and the skin of Rodney's dick felt thin and hot and a little sticky in the dry palm of John's hand. Which was still Rodney's hand. Sighing a little, John reached for the bottle of lube he'd set on the end table, and slicked up. Thumbing the head over and over, John closed his eyes and shifted his hips, thighs spreading, lube dribbling down in a sort of annoying way, not quite warm enough and trailing over his balls. He let go of his dick and rubbed the now slippery tips of his thumb and forefingers together, a little flare of heat low in his belly just thinking about Rodney's ass, and fingers, and fingers in Rodney's ass... His dick twitched once, twice, and John curled a hand around it again, cupping his balls in his free hand.

Rodney _did_ like it slippery, John learned, his hand making ridiculous squelching noises as he jerked himself fast, faster, fastest, his hand slick and almost frictionless, just a gliding build of sensation, warm and wet and tight and just, just, there, right _there_ , that's—

John blacked out.

*

"Colonel? Colonel?" Carson's voice sounded tinny and distant on his earpiece, which was on the end table, and about three feet away from him.

Blinking awake, John stiffened as he realized there was someone in his room.

Rodney, in his own body, looking nervous and freshly scrubbed and wearing only his boxer-briefs and one of John's tee-shirts, stretched tautly against his belly. He picked up the earpiece and gave John an imploring look.

At first, distracted by the fact that he was naked and sticky and back in his own body again, John wasn't exactly sure just what it was Rodney wanted him to _do_. Then he understood and gave Rodney a hesitant nod and Rodney hooked the comm over his own ear and gave it a businesslike tap.

"Yeah?"

"Any change, Colonel?"

"Nope. Nothing yet."

"But you'll—"

"Don't call me, I'll call you, Carson. Thanks. Bye." His tone was clipped and annoyed and John wondered if that was Rodney doing an impression of John being bored with Carson's check-ins or just Rodney being short because he wanted to get laid.

John glanced down at himself, his familiar cock, his hairy legs, the hairy chest, the knuckly hands. When he looked up again, Rodney was staring. When John raised his eyebrows at him, Rodney flushed and held out a wet washcloth, so John took it and swiped at his dick and spattered thighs.

The cloth was warm, and Rodney was _still_ staring. John's dick seemed to take that as a very good sign.

"Like what you see, Rodney?" he said lazily.

"Oh, god, you have no idea. If you'd owned a full-length mirror? This whole thing would have been over in the first ten minutes. Seriously, I'd never have gotten to the infirmary."

"Thanks," John said dryly. And he would have said more, but then Rodney was crawling on to the bed and leaning down to kiss him, his wide soft mouth against John's, and John felt a weird glad thrill of _recognition_ , because hey, he _knew_ that mouth.

"Let me, let me—" Rodney was saying breathlessly, "You'll like this, I know what you like—" and he pulled away and scooted down and touched the cut of John's hip, the skin along the slope of muscle, lightly, very lightly, and John shivered, hissing in a sharp breath. Rodney gave him a knowing smile and leaned low, saying, "I've been dying to try this," and licked a wide, warm trail across the same strip of skin and then blew on it. John shivered again, and his cock started to fill.

And for two _hours_ (Jesus, John thought, how long had he been _out_ , anyway? Could it really have been long enough for Rodney to have learned all _this_?) Rodney took John apart. What he lacked in skill, he made up for with initiative, and if he didn't hit the bull's eye every time, he never missed the board.

He stroked a finger deep as he was sucking John down, and when John had come (it had been messy, it had been _spectacular_ ), Rodney kept his hand there, not moving it, but just _there_ , and when the sensation had eased back enough and John could give Rodney a jerky nod, Rodney pulled out and spread him open with two very lubed fingers before bending John's knees back and nudging into him, inch by slow inch.

For what seemed like days, Rodney hardly moved—he just leaned his weight against John and screwed his eyes shut, clearly trying not to come. When he _did_ move, he made long slow glides, in deep and almost out, a careful rhythm that built a haze of white pleasure behind John's eyes that echoed in his gut and behind his balls and radiated out along his arms and legs like steam. A slow, hot fuck after he'd already come made John pliant, boneless and open, and as he didn't exactly enjoy feeling that way, he hadn't done this in... years. And he'd only done it twice before Rodney.

Rodney's face and chest were pink with exertion, his shoulders gleaming with sweat, brow furrowed in obvious concentration.

"Christ, you're so—you're _so_ —oh—" His eyes flew open and he halted with a slow rolling shudder, like a train braking at a station. John could feel him twitch as he came, buried in John's ass.

"How close are you?" And Rodney's voice was hoarse, as if he'd been shouting instead of just panting and gulping out John's name under his breath here and there, and John, who'd made a hell of a comeback and was stiff and heavy again, who'd been ready for twenty minutes at _least_ , said, "Close," through gritted teeth and Rodney shifted his weight onto his hands and _shoved_ , still hard enough, just as he dropped his head and gently, gently closed his teeth against the curve of John's ear.

John bucked, knotted his hands in the sheets and shot so hard he saw stars behind his eyes.

When he came back to himself, Rodney was still inside him, his face mashed against John's chest, snoring.

*

Teyla looked relieved and only a little smug when they showed up at the morning meeting in their own bodies again.

There was a whole lot of back-slapping and applause, and Ronon picked up first John and then Rodney in a fit of exuberance that had Rodney threatening to file a medical claim.

"We're very glad to have you back. Now let's see if we can get some work done," said Elizabeth with a smile.

At the end of the meeting, Teyla stopped to touch John's arm.

"Did you learn much of Rodney's 'moccasins'?"

"Maybe," John hedged.

*

That night, Rodney shifted restlessly in bed beside him, muttering to himself and punching his pillow.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for bed-sharing," he said in a strangely small voice. "I mean, it's been a long time and—"

"Shut up, Rodney," John said, and ran his fingernails lightly against a patch of Rodney's bare back, scratching that maddening inch on the shoulder blade that he had never been able to really get at while inhabiting Rodney's body.

Rodney's muttering subsided into a happy, crooning little hum.

"Bed-sharing it is," Rodney said eventually.

"Yeah," said John.


End file.
